Illuminate the Darkest Nights
by sparly503
Summary: There's a reason for everything but Sebastian's got secrets he doesn't want to be unravelled. However Kurt, naturally, is not of the same mind.
1. King of Hearts

**Title:** Illuminate the Darkest Nights  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There's a reason for everything but Sebastian's got secrets he doesn't want to be unravelled. However Kurt, naturally, is not of the same mind.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Don't know, don't own, don't sue.  
><strong>AN: **Warnings for future abuse. I might change the rating due to that.

This has been in the works for about a month, so I'm glad I finally got around to posting it. This chapter is more like a prologue into Sebastian's background, so don't worry, Kurt comes in in the next chapter :)

I love this pairing a ridiculous amount, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>Nowhere doesn't exist. This is a fact Sebastian learns very early on. If you think about nowhere long enough it becomes <em>somewhere<em> and just because no one's there doesn't mean it doesn't exist, and if it exists it must be somewhere. No matter how much you wish for nowhere to come, to surround you, to envelope you in nothingness, it never does.

An untouchable place is a pointless thing to wish for, but he wishes for it nonetheless.

* * *

><p>"Do you want to see a trick, Sebby?" his mother asks him, reaching out a hand to pull him onto her knee and tucking her arms around him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see a flicker of fire red as her hair brushes against his cheek, and it looks like the cigarette she's always holding between her teeth, and he thinks maybe that's why she smokes, because it can't be the smell that's laced in all her clothes, smothering and nasty, that keeps her inhaling them, and it can't be the taste, because he tried one once, rolled it round his mouth without lighting it, and all he got was bitterness as he made the filter soggy, so it must be the colour, bright and sharp, like her. She holds half a pack of cards in front of him and tells him to pick one.<p>

"No," he says, "you can see. It's not magic if you cheat!"

She laughs softly and he can feel her smile resting on his cheek. She tells him he doesn't have to point to it but she'll close her eyes anyway so he can if he wants to, and he twists his head to check if her eyes really are shut, even though he believes her because she never lies to him.

Once he's picked it_, the king of hearts_, he nudges her with his elbow so she knows she can open her eyes. Her breath, tight and warm and full of smoke, tickles his skin and ruffles his hair as she hands him the pack of cards and tells him he can split it. He does, and _not_ in the centre so he can throw her off, and then he watches her shuffle the deck, quick and skilful and practised, her fingers connoisseurs of the suits, fast and trained and so very remarkable (he likes that word, he heard his father mention it at breakfast while he read the paper, "it's _remarkable_ how stupid these bastards are, as if they can control us, what a fucking scam..."). When she's done she runs her fingers along the fanned out cards, gentle and brief, as if they are valuable, and he wonders if they really are valuable to her. The pictures are pretty and he knows she likes pretty things. After a moment she chooses and pulls one out.

"Is this your card?" she asks and he grins because it's the ace of spades and that means he's still one step ahead of the magic.

"No," he smiles.

"No?" she says, shocked.

"No!" he giggles and shakes his head.

She picks another, "I'll get it this time", and waves it before him with a flourish.

"Is this your card?" she asks, and his laughter increases because it's the seven of clubs now and he's beaten the magic again. "No? Well, how is this happening? This has never happened before. Have you outwitted my magic trick, Sebby?"

He nods and she gives a long sigh, squeezing him closer to her so he squirms, and smiles another tangible smile.

"I might as well give up then, no? The master of magic has beaten me. I bow down, good sir."

"No, no, no!" he implores, eyes wide, "Don't stop the magic! Don't give up on the magic." He is so worried she'll stop that he reaches up and grabs her hair in his hand, tugging at it lightly so she'll listen and won't leave him halfway through one of his favourite tricks. He hears her laugh, and thinks maybe laughing is her job because she does it so well, except when her and father argue late at night, and he hides under the duvet so he doesn't have to hear the yells and cracks. Her laugh is wild and tame and controlled and free, like the cigarettes she balances on her lips, and that sound is the best part of the day.

"Okay, okay," she caves, "is this your card?" and he bounces in excitement and claps as there in her hands is the king of hearts and there's the magic that she works and here comes her laugh again, she's always laughing, and "oh Sebby, have I found it?"

"_Yes_," he says happily, and snuggles into her and her smoky warmth as he clutches the card to his chest. "King of Hearts, King of Hearts, King of Hearts..."

He falls asleep in her arms and dreams of everything and nowhere and smiles because his mother is magic and everyone is _remarkable_ and he's the King of Hearts who only gets caught when he wants to.

* * *

><p>"I don't believe in love," Freddie Marshall declares, his face dirty and his tone even murkier. Sebastian smiles and Freddie glares, and it just makes the whole thing even funnier.<p>

"Why not?" he asks, curiosity layered on top of his anticipation of beating this argument to the ground with logic, truth and facts. Freddie pulls a face, disgusted and condescending, if he knew what that was, and gestures around him at the field full of students, running, screaming, talking, happiness like a burn to his eyes. Sebastian would laugh but he'd probably be hit for it, and the ridiculous air around his mud-streaked, obstinate friend isn't worth a bruise.

"Because it's pointless."

"How is it pointless?"

Freddie straightens up, squaring his shoulders and tilting his head, authority in posture.

"If it exists, why do people fight? Why do we have wars?"

He smirks at Sebastian, like he's got him, _like that's proof_, and for a moment he has, as Seb just pulls his hands out of his pockets and plays with the frayed hem of his shirt. But then he thinks over what has just been said and remembers his argument, the truth, and straightens up himself too.

"So are you saying it's pointless, or it doesn't exist?"

Freddie frowns and rubs his face.

"Both."

"Well it _can't _be both. If it doesn't exist then it can't be pointless. It'd just be nothing."

Sebastian allows himself a momentary victory as Freddie looks stumped and has to splutter back a defensive reply, and isn't defence the symptom of losing?

"Fine then, it just doesn't exist." Freddie gives him a sideways glance, his expression sly, like he's got a winning point coming up, and Seb braces himself because that expression means he's going to have to give up unless he wants to lose his shoes or rip his jumper or be force fed worms, which is _gross. _"If love existed, and stuff, if everyone could love, then why would there be murders? Why would there be fights? Why would there be hate?"

Sebastian laughs in relief, this he has an answer for, circling like a mantra in his head, memorised from his mother's words.

"Why would hate exist if not for love? If no one loved anything what would there be to fight over? Who would there be to fight _with _over?"

Freddie gives him a disbelieving glance, closes his face up for a moment then breathes out, gives him a regretful grin.

"Man, you're going to get beaten up when you're older," and Sebastian blinks so he carries on, "really, what is that? Who taught you that rubbish?"

"My mother," Sebastian replies proudly.

"Right," Freddie sits down on the grass, wiggling around, grass stains unimportant and beckons Seb to do the same, which he does, if slightly begrudgingly, "but girls are disgusting."

Seb lies down, looks at the sky, catches the strands of grass in his fists, smiles.

"Yeah," he replies, "totally."

* * *

><p><em>Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin des temps.<em>

He can hear her crying upstairs; can hear her soft sobs like she's next to him. For a second he pauses, she cries so often nowadays and he never knows how to help, she just gives him a mask of a face and whispers "ignore me, Sebby, I'm happy really", even though he knows she's not. She lies to him but he doesn't blame her because she'll have a reason, a good one, she always does. This time, however, he can hear thumps, movement processed by the notes being played between the floors, so he creeps upstairs and pushes open her door. There's a slight haze, the smoke she loves so, but there's her figure, standing there. She turns to him and she looks small, hunched, like she's trying to disappear within herself, which is so _unlike _her, she's never tried to not be there before.

"Mom?" he asks, his voice small like her stance.

She gazes at him for a while, as if she's trying to figure him out, and now he looks at her properly he sees something he didn't see before. There's a shadow on her face, blooming and nasty, creeping along her cheek and engulfing her eye, and there's a shadow on her neck, dull and threatening and ringing her like a necklace, like a tag, like a warning to whoever views her. He swallows and stands there, waits for her to talk.

Eventually she does, summoning him in with the curve of her fingers, her magicians hands, and sits on the bed, pulling him up next to her. He stares at her, her painted mouth and sad eyes, so so sad. She looks regretful, resigned, and he waits for a why.

"I'm sorry, Sebby," is all she says and sorry is all he seems to be hearing these days, _sorry about your father, it's a bad time, sorry about not being able to pick you up, I promise I will be there tomorrow, sorry I have to go out tonight, there's food in the fridge, sorry, sorry, sorry_. Sebastian reaches out with his hand to touch her face because her face seems to be telling what her words are not, but she stops him, clasps her fingers around his wrist and holds it there.

"What's wrong?" he asks, begs, and he feels her fingers increase the pressure slightly, press into his pulse harder. "What happened to you, mom?"

She scrunches up her face suddenly and bites her cracked lips and in the half-light streaming through the window her hair looks less like fire and more like blood. She coughs, then relaxes her expression and looks him straight in the eyes.

"You know when I play cards with you?" He nods and she continues, "I teach you how to keep control, to stop what is truly happening in your hand be known?" He nods again. "And you know how every game is not foreseeable, that it's unpredictable? A risk?"

"Yes," he says, watching her, eyes wide.

"Life is like that, Sebby. Things don't always happen…as planned. People aren't always…safe. Life is a gamble," her voice breaks and so does her face, tiny little splinters in her calm masquerade giving her away, her fear. Her fingers on his wrist tighten even more but he doesn't tell her she's hurting him.

It doesn't matter because she lets go, blinks, covers herself again with a smile and a hand smoothing down her skirt. Almost imperceptibly she glances to the side where on the floor there's a suitcase, half empty and full of implications. Sebastian follows her gaze and doesn't speak. What can he do? Wherever she's going, she'll have a reason, she'll come back and it'll all be better, no more arguments, no more late nights, no more crying. She stands up, goes to the wardrobe and with her back to him speaks again.

"Don't tell your father. Protect him for me."

Her voice is open and young, vulnerable and more different than ever before. She bows her head as she takes out more clothes, reaches for her hairbrush on the dresser, grabs some papers and tucks it all into her bag. Sebastian isn't sure what she wants him to hide from his father but he won't find it hard, whatever it is. There's a love in his father's eyes, clear when he talks to his mother, when they _talk _and don't _yell_, and there's an admiration when he sees him with those men, his friends, who shake his hand and drink together, and even a submissive respect when he's with those men, definitely_ not_ his friends, who make demands and crack their knuckles, but none of those things reside in him when he's with his son. Dismissive acceptance, yes. Irritation, always. _He loves you_, his mother's always told him, and he believes her, really he does, but it doesn't change the fact that it's apparent the room is better empty than occupied to his father. Hiding something simply means acting as usual.

Sebastian stands up and walks behind her to the bedside table and reaches into the drawer there. He takes out two packs, her third and fourth loves, she constantly tells him, after himself and his father, and goes to her, where she takes them, trembles, then loses the façade completely and falls to her knees, embracing him. He can feel her crying again, the rocking of her shoulders and the dampness caressing his cheek and frowns, pulling back and wiping her face.

"Don't cry, mommy," he mumbles, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

She holds him closer and laughs through her tears.

"These are good tears, darling. Sebby, you know me so well. It makes me sad…to leave you. Sad to not be able to see you every day."

He clings onto her, suddenly terrified. _Don't go, _he pleads, _don't leave me. Why do you have to go?_

"Look after yourself," she says, not a request, an order, "look after your father, stay together, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Sebastian nods, buries his head in her neck, shakes.

"Good boy. I love you, don't forget it."

"When are you coming back?"

He feels her pause and prays for her response to be _soon, next week, tomorrow, I'm not going at all_. She sighs, long and deep and he feels her breath in his hair, warm and smoky and comforting.

"We'll see each other again, I promise. I love you," she repeats the last sentence, reiterating its importance so he understands that he can't forget it, it's the most significant thing in the world to her, _he's _the most significant thing.

"I love you too."

She lets him go and slips the packs into the top of her bag, cigarettes, that old love, and cards, the magic they share, and gives him a smile that shines through her colourful face, a smile that he'll never let slip from his memory. She touches his hair, strokes it like she used to when he was a baby and smiles, just smiles.

"Goodbye, Sebby," she says.

She kisses his forehead, brushes away the tears he hadn't realised were there and walks out. He runs to the window and watches her walk down the path, out onto the street, until she disappears from view around the corner. He stays there for hours, watching the street, left only with a smile and a promise that he'll see her again.

She never lies, not really.

* * *

><p>His father is angry. Angrier than he's ever seen him before, the sort of angry that breaks glasses and slashes cloth and smashes the television in. Sebastian just stands there, back against the wall and answers whatever question is flung his way, if it seems safe enough to speak.<p>

_"Where's your mother?"_

"I don't know."

_"All her stuff's gone. Where is she?"_

"She left a few hours ago."

"_Why? Answer me, _for God's sake_, answer me._"

"I don't know."

_I don't know _is an honest answer, almost, because _she said life is a gamble and people aren't always safe _is enough of a dangerous sentence already for him to realise that replying with it to his father would be entirely stupid and extremely daring, and with his father that's kind of the same thing.

Red is the colour of the evening, pulsing and furious and fatal. All Sebastian wants to do is to go to his room and hide, pretend this hasn't happened, pretend he's at school arguing with his best friend and he can just come home to the sanctuary of his mother, but every time he goes to leave his father stops him, growls and demands more answers that he cannot give. It is tiring, so so tiring and Sebastian can see this is the future. He's young but he's not naïve, not now. _Exhaustion. Apathy. Anger._

_Please stop, _he thinks numbly. _Please let me go. I'll bring her back, I will. Just stop yelling._

In the end, as the night has worn them down and his father has poured himself a glass or two of a lethal painkiller, slumped over the table, he raises his eyes to meet his sons and smiles. Nasty, broken, such a horrifically lost smile that Sebastian looks down. The sight may go but the sound doesn't, the clink against the wood as loud as a crash, the slurred coarse tone of his father's words.

"We're leaving too, Sebby," he says unevenly.

_Don't call me that_, Sebastian thinks, but says,

"Where?"

"Away from here. Far away…France." His father seems to be making it up as he speaks and Sebastian looks back up uneasily. His red eyes are closed, his mouth slightly slack as he smiles again, this time with a stretch of genuinity. Sebastian swallows, feeling very small and helpless.

"Why?" he asks, he has to. He doesn't understand.

"Because it isn't safe here."

Sebastian feels his throat tighten at these words. Did he repeat what his mother said by accident? Did he mention the cards? _No_, he thinks, _I didn't_. _Safe_, he thinks, _why do I keep hearing that? Where, _he thinks_, is everyone running to?_

_What are they running from?_

His father won't give him an answer, passed out over his alcohol, a million miles away. His mother can't tell him, can't explain in her soft voice, with all the right words and her magic, because she's gone too, left him alone, here with _everything_.

This is the first time Sebastian wants to be elsewhere, where nobody can touch him, where nobody can abandon him, where nothing is dangerous. This is the first time he wants to be nowhere.

He slides to the floor, tucks his knees under his chin and let's himself cry, even though Freddie's always telling him boys don't _cry_. Freddie's not here. No one is.

* * *

><p>His father is as good as his word and before they know it they're on a transatlantic flight, everything packed and locked away in the hold, Sebastian watching the only country he's ever known disappearing beneath him, falling away like he was never there. He thinks of his home, the clouded, scented extravagant wallpaper his mother insisted on, his bedroom filled with scribbly drawings and books he couldn't wait to understand, the magenta front door that his father always said gave him a headache to look at. Then he looks over at the man next to him, his eyes closed even though it's a day flight so there's no way <em>Seb<em> will get any sleep.

"Don't disrupt me," his father mutters out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn't even twist his head to look at his son, so Sebastian turns away himself and looks out the window. He obeys his father and doesn't talk to him the whole flight. There's nothing to talk about. Already the memories of home are being lost. Not forgotten, no, just pushed to the back of his mind. What use are they to him now?

A few hours into the journey, a few hours further away from America and a few hours closer to the unknown, Sebastian stops seeing the white swirl of the clouds below him and instead sees an expanse of blue. The gap in the clouds, rare at thirty thousand feet, enables him to view the vast, endless expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean, wide and graceful and rough and beautiful. He looks at it, so powerful, shaping countries and separating lives and imagines drowning, letting the water drag him in. Away from the closed in, cloying economy class cabin he's in, away from the danger he's escaping that he just can't see. Down, down into the dark, the depths, the numb.

Sebastian leans his forehead against the cold window and feels the pressure of the sea. The water is everywhere and nowhere at once and he likes that. _Take me with you, _he thinks, and he's not sure if it's to his mother or the ocean but either way it's true. All he wants is to run away, or drown, or both.

_And it will steal your innocence but it will not steal your substance._

The clouds come back again, obscure his view and he sighs. Nothing lasts forever.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin des temps. (I will love you until the end of time.) - Moulin Rouge_

__And it will steal your innocence but it will not steal your substance._ - "Timshel" by Mumford & Sons_

_Title from the song "Like a Million Lights" by This Love._

This is actually a fill for a prompt on the kink meme but I can't for the life of me find it again. So if anyone knows of a prompt that sounds vaguely like this (and that's unlikely because I've deviated away from the point a bit, even I can't remember the exact prompt) it'd be really useful. I'd like to thank them, I love this fandom so much. I don't know how it happened but it crept up on me and I'm glad it did!


	2. Princess

_Can't start a fire, no you can't start a fire without a spark,_

_This gun's for hire,_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark._

If anything could cause a blot on Kurt's page it would be the figure of Sebastian Smythe, tall, mean and achingly arrogant, striding across his line of vision to order a coffee and sending him that trademark smug smirk of his. Kurt frowns and looks down, concentrating on the text that's just lit up his phone rather than the person he'd really like to throw it at. Preferably hitting his head. Unfortunately peace, with Sebastian in the room, never lasts long.

"Busy social life?"

Kurt's frown deepens as he is forced to look back up at him. Standing there, with that condescending tone and patronizing tilt of his head, staring at him with that pitying expression, makes Kurt want to do nothing other than hit him or flounce out but _dammit _he won't do either because he was here first and Smythe doesn't rule him, not by a long shot. Instead he narrows his eyes to turn the frown into a glare and gives him a cold look.

"You're not wanted here, Sebastian," he mutters, flicking his eyes to the door and hoping he'll get the hint.

Of course, he _does_, but naturally Sebastian being Sebastian (and the most infuriating, deliberately maddening person in probably the whole state, if not America), he takes this as an invite to sit down opposite him and flash him a winning smile, which is a slight improvement on that sarcastic sneer but doesn't make Kurt feel like he wants him to be sitting there any more than he'd want a sabre toothed tiger to be near him, except perhaps the sabre toothed tiger would be more upfront about its true colours, and possibly have better dentistry. The thought makes him giggle a bit and Sebastian raises an eyebrow, looking bemused.

"Something amusing you, Hummel?"

At these words Kurt's face drops again and he returns to glaring at him.

"Look," he says flatly, "whatever you want, you're not going to get it. So please, _go away_."

Sebastian laughs, loud and clear, but not _real, _more _mocking_ and it takes all of Kurt's willpower not to grab his coffee and throw it in his face.

"I don't want anything, nothing from you anyway." He leans forward and winks at him, the laughter still creasing the corners of his eyes, "Believe me, if I wanted it, I'd _have_ it."

Kurt would be shocked by such self-importance and egotism but overexposure to Sebastian means such confidence no longer surprises him. He finds himself wondering just where all this confidence comes from. _I wonder_, he thinks, _if he's ever been nervous in his life. I wonder if he's ever doubted himself._

Clearly he's not going to get an answer so he rolls his eyes instead, composing himself into a haughty stance of disdain and disinterest.

"Well, whatever it is you don't want, can you please go and not want it elsewhere. Whether you're lying and actually do want something, or whether you just get some inane thrill from irritating me because you enjoy winding me up, which might I say tells us something about your fascinating lifestyle not mine, it really doesn't interest me. So please, like I said, go away."

Sebastian grins at him and leans back again. He almost looks ready to stretch his arms out and close his eyes to emphasise his obvious _not leaving_, and it hits Kurt that he's rather like a cat, lofty and lordly, knowing that he can't be moved unless he wants to. Kurt doesn't like this image so much. He adores cats, unfortunately, and it'd be a shame for Sebastian to spoil that.

"Aren't we in a bad mood today. Did you eat a bowl of bitch for breakfast? Get out of the wrong side of bed?"

Kurt takes in a deep breath and fixes his gaze on Sebastian's stupid, snarky face.

"At least I got out of _my_ bed," he retorts, tapping his fingers on the table and watching Sebastian raise his eyebrows. His smirk stays steady and he even lets out a low chuckle.

"On top form, as usual. Say, Hummel, how about you stop sitting here like the sad little princess you are and actually do something with your life. I may get out of someone else's bed but at least I get out the right side," Sebastian's smirk widens. "I enjoy myself at night. My wet dreams are reality. _I_ don't have to toss off to the sex I'm not having with my indifferent boyfriend."

Kurt's eyes flash.

"As a matter of fact, Blaine and I often-" Kurt stops and breaks off, inhaling sharply and catching himself halfway through the sentence. Sebastian looks as if he's about to burst out laughing. "What is the point of this? Honestly Sebastian, I'm not the only one sitting here doing nothing. If you've got such a full, exciting schedule, why are you still here bugging me?"

"I'm all out for the day, if you know what I mean."

"Regrettably I do."

"Anyway," Sebastian throws him a bright smile, "there's no one else I'd rather annoy."

"I honestly don't know if that's a compliment or not," Kurt says, his fingers tapping harder. Sebastian casts a quick glance down at his hand.

"I tend to take everything as a compliment. Life's too short to worry about insults."

"Good thing, otherwise you'd be permanently terrified." Tap, tap, tap.

"Wow, you're on fire today."

"Could you please just drink your coffee and leave?"

Sebastian shakes his head and Kurt sighs, his drumming becoming more insistent. For a moment he watches Sebastian staring at his hand and the constant rhythm it's making against the table and then the next second Sebastian's launched himself forward and shot a hand out to slam on Kurt's, halting the noise abruptly.

"Ow, what-? What the…what did you do that for?" Kurt gasps angrily, snatching his hand away and pushing his chair back.

"That sound was intensely irritating."

"And you couldn't have just asked me to stop?" Kurt asks, bewildered. Sebastian gives him a pointed look that clearly says he thinks he's stupid.

"Would you have?" he asks and Kurt has to shake his head, no, of course he wouldn't, because if he's being honest any opportunity to piss Sebastian off even half as much as Sebastian pisses him off is, and will always be, gladly taken. He smiles slyly and lifts his hand to tap the table again. Anything to get rid of him. Small victories and all.

"Don't," Sebastian warns, but he still looks entertained, infuriatingly.

"Oh sorry, am I annoying you? Can't imagine what _that_ feels like."

At that precise moment his phone lights up again, blinking an impatient message at him and he remembers that throughout his pointless, exasperating conversation with Sebastian he's forgotten to reply to his correspondent. He quickly types back a reply and realises that this could be his ticket out of here without looking like he's backing down from whatever strange competition they have going on. He looks up to meet Sebastian's curious gaze and gives him what could be construed as an apologetic smile, although it's not hard to see he's really not sorry at all, and stands up.

"I'm needed somewhere. By people who don't make me want to knock their buck teeth down their throats," he says and indicates towards his phone.

"Violence. That's a new one. It's quite becoming on you, Hummel," replies Sebastian, crossing his arms and smiling back at him, just as insincerely.

"Goodbye, Smythe."

Kurt turns and, pocketing his phone, begins to walk away. He can feel Sebastian's eyes on him, burning into his back, and it's only when he gets to the door that he hears him call after him.

"Goodbye, princess," Sebastian yells, and Kurt swears if he hadn't made that comment about violence he'd march right back over there and sock him. _Breathe_, he thinks to himself, _ignore the idiot. As much as you dislike him, violence is never the answer._

He glances back over as he opens the door to leave.

_He's not worth it anyway._

* * *

><p>France is just like America, except older, softer, stronger, scarier. It holds ancient tales and busy lives and everyone speaks too fast, too melodic, too indirectly, so Sebastian lets it wash over him like the ocean he crossed. The streets are curved not straight, the word is metro not subway, and the government is <em>socialist <em>not _capitalist_, not that he understands what either of these mean, but it must be quite important because his father's mentioned it a few times_, _not to him but to various other people and by his tone, it matters. His father's got two voices, the one that changes with the mood and situation and the one that always spells out 'deadly serious', and generally leads to trouble. When he hears the deadly serious one he decides it's best not to say a word. Why is a question that seems to be slipping from his vocabulary, just as silence seems to be a new persona that fits for this new country.

It's best not to say a word. Not when every half an hour or so there's another outburst or another glass or another clenching of his father's fist in a new bout of temper. Sebastian watches this new world and keeps his mouth shut. _Look after yourself_, his mother said, and that's what he does. Silence is safety.

"Why don't you speak?" his father asks once, when they've somehow acquired a living space made of mould and winding stairways, "For God's sake, it's not the end of the world. It's the fucking centre."

_You told me not to_, Sebastian thinks, but he doesn't remind him.

"Sorry," he murmurs quietly and his father grunts.

"Go to your room and stay in your room. I've got friends coming over tonight," his father replies, leaning over the edge of the table to reach for a bottle on the side. He doesn't look back at his son so Sebastian drops his head and let's himself be condemned away.

_It's not my room_, he thinks. _They're not your friends_.

They haven't been here a month but already he's seen the same sort of men from back home come round, cold and masked in polite laughter and undertones, with that same greed in their eyes that he sees in his father's. There was a glint of it in his mother's once but it was nicer somehow, more joyful. Theirs is harsh and merciless. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like them.

He lies on his bed and looks out the window, at the skyline of the city filled with curved streets and busy lives and _socialism_ and wonders. He reflects and dissects but he cannot find the answer to his question.

_It's the fucking centre, _his father had said. _France is the centre. _He thinks and he thinks but he can't find the reasoning behind those words. In the end he comes to a vague conclusion.

_My mother's French, _he thinks. _Maybe he thinks we'll find her here. Maybe we've followed her. _The thought makes him smile and he forgives his father a little bit, for the drinking and disinterest, because if he can bring back his mother then he's a hero.

"We'll stick together, you and I, Dad," he whispers to himself, "we'll find her. And then we'll go back home."

* * *

><p>This time it's Kurt who enters the Lima Bean second, groaning softly when he sees Sebastian resting on the counter like he owns the place, which he very well could do judging by the amount of time he spends in there, and seriously contemplates turning around and walking out until Sebastian notices him and flashes that contagious smile, waving him over. <em>Damn, <em>he thinks, cursing himself, _didn't leave fast enough. _He could turn and leave now but he's nothing if not courteous, even to the most impolite, irritating person he knows, so for some unfathomable reason he smiles back, a little strained but what can you expect, and heads over to join him.

"Here for another lonely coffee?" Sebastian asks, taking his order from the person serving him. "Thanks," he says and Kurt watches the girl giggle and reply "no problem", widening her eyes in a way Kurt can only assume is meant to make them look bigger and more beautiful. He laughs incredulously. Sebastian really can charm anyone without any effort at all, just by saying _thank you_.

"You take hypocrisy to a new level, Sebastian, you really do. I mean, do you ever actually _go _home?"

Sebastian laughs too, taking a seat at the closest table. Kurt sits down next to him, though he really doesn't mean to stay.

"I don't like being at home," Sebastian says, and for a second his voice drops and goes quiet. Kurt is about to ask about it when Sebastian's face changes again, back to a sardonic smile and taunting light in his eyes. "Anyway, I'm waiting for a date, so sorry to burst your bubble, but some of us have lives. Not that I don't enjoy our fun little conversations while I wait."

Kurt resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Geez, should I warn the poor guy what a complete ass you are?"

"Not a good enough ass for you, princess?" Sebastian winks.

"Oh, for Goodness sake," Kurt snaps, red heating his face, which just embarrasses him further and _great_ there's that Sebastian look that says _oh yes, I win,_ and _this _is why he severely dislikes him, stupid meerkat faced jerk, "and don't call me princess."

"Sorry…princess."

Sighing theatrically, a talent Kurt's perfected, he chooses to ignore the bait and taps his fingers on the table in a quick rhythm. Sebastian winces and nods his head but somehow carries on smiling. Still, _one all _is the clear message.

"So who's this unlucky boy you've tricked into going out with you?" Kurt asks, changing the topic of conversation. Sebastian's smile broadens.

"Oh just some adoring, sexy thing I met the other day. You're not really in the same league, so I doubt you know him."

"Give him my sincerest apologies before the date starts. He doesn't know exactly how much of a conceited, pretentious idiot he's managed to end up meeting. Only hope he realises that early on."

"Won't matter, he'll sleep with me anyway."

Kurt shakes his head disbelievingly as Sebastian grins and takes a sip of his coffee.

"Wow, you really are something, aren't you? When you contract chlamydia or whatever other nasty thing you're going to get one day, I want you to remember that it's your own fault that you'll be going to the doctors by yourself."

When Sebastian laughs now it rings out 100% genuine and it takes Kurt a second to get accustomed to the sound. He didn't really think Sebastian did anything _genuinely_, especially laughing of all things.

"Ouch, harsh. You weren't in a good mood yesterday either," Sebastian states, not seeming to mind at all. "Trouble in paradise?"

"No," Kurt replies tersely, "not that's it's any of your business."

"Go on, what's he done?"

"_Blaine _hasn't done anything. He's just busy, that's all."

Sebastian's eyes light up and he raises his eyebrows like he's just understood the million dollar question.

"So _that's _why you're sitting here like a reject. Blaine had other more important things in his life." He takes another nonchalant drink and asks offhandedly, "Like what?"

"I don't know," Kurt frowns.

"Hmm, keeping secrets now is he? Well, I won't tell you if I'm one of them."

This time Kurt doesn't bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Sebastian's lucky he can resist the urge to hit him too. Being a pacifist seems to only be working in Sebastian's favour, not his, at the moment.

"He's not keeping secrets. That's the thing about an actual, mature relationship Sebastian. You can love someone and be independent. You don't have to know what they're doing every second of the day. You can trust them."

Sebastian's gaze is unimpressed.

"Sounds dull to me."

Opening his mouth to answer with some remark on how you actually need to contain a heart to understand real relationships and a brain to act on rationality and trust and not just on animal instincts, Kurt is interrupted by the arrival of a newcomer, hovering around their table and giving Sebastian an uncertain smile. Sebastian looks up and his whole expression changes into one of happiness, but it's not like his previous emotion has melted away at the sight of this stranger, instead it's more like it's simply been layered on top. Kurt inclines his head in a fascinated sort of awe and wonders how many feelings are hiding under that constant smirk, layered over and over until they're undistinguishable in the face of confidence. Then he wonders if he truly has any feelings at all, if they aren't all painted on like this one seems to be. He honestly can't figure him out. So he stops the line of thought that's bound to make his head ache and turns his attention on the boy standing by them.

"Hey, sexy," Sebastian greets, standing up to put an arm around him. The boy instantly relaxes. "This is Kurt. He has a serious fashion issue and acts like a diva the majority of the time."

The boy looks a little confused but extends his hand to take Kurt's.

"Um, hi," he says, giving him a strange look.

"Hi," Kurt almost wants to say _hi Sexy, how are you?_ It's on the tip of his tongue but he refrains, holding it in, although he can see Sebastian's sensed what he was about to say - if that entertained chuckle is anything to go by. "My fashion sense is ten times better than the indescribable species to your right and at least I've earned my diva rights," Kurt pauses. The poor boy looks like he's just been hit in the face with quantum physics and he can't remember the definition of energy. "Good luck," is all Kurt finishes with, casting a glance at Sebastian who can hardly contain his laughter.

"Er…thanks?" the boy responds, turning to Sebastian for support.

Sebastian smiles and pulls him closer, sliding a hand down to his hips.

"Come on, baby, we've got places to go, things to do." He starts to lead him away. "You can have the rest of my coffee, Kurt. I'm sure you're used to second hand stuff."

The sentence would annoy him if he wasn't quite so amused by the whole situation. He just shrugs and lets him leave, half relieved that he's finally going away and half regretful, because despite how annoying Sebastian is, exasperating, aggravating, and a complete and utter _tool_, there's an enjoyable element, however tiny, to their games. And the boy is so ridiculous brazen that his excess of unashamed self-assurance is fairly humorous, when it's not Blaine he's after.

A few steps before Sebastian and the boy who Kurt still doesn't know the name of have reached the door, Sebastian looks over his shoulder and runs his tongue over his teeth lightly, slipping his hand into his date's pocket and winking again. Kurt shakes his head and snorts.

When he's sure Sebastian has gone and isn't coming back he picks up the coffee, still half full, and takes a sip. _No point wasting it_, he thinks.

* * *

><p><strong> AN: **_Can't start a fire, no you can't start a fire without a spark,_

_This gun's for hire,_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark. - "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen._

Also, thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited, it means a lot, and I hope you enjoy :)


	3. Nancy Vera

Even with a sweet tooth that's bound to kill him one day and a preference for all things sugary, despite the calories, Kurt still can't understand how Finn can eat waffles with that much chocolate sauce and syrup on before it's even nine o'clock in the morning. He regards him with a sort of disgusted enthrallment as Finn takes the bottle marked "Chocolate Sauce – Finn's property" out of the fridge (and why he keeps it in the fridge Kurt has yet to discover. Some things in life just aren't worth questioning) and pours it on, letting it run over the edges and create a pool of sticky sweetness on his plate. Burt doesn't say a word, they're all used to it, and Finn buys the sauce himself so it's not like it's being taken out of the family budget, but Kurt can't help asking the same thing he asks every morning.

"How is it possible for someone so athletic to eat that much pure _rubbish_ and not have a heart attack?"

Finn looks at him over a mouthful of waffle and swallows, licking his lips.

"It's necessary to keep me healthy. I have to even out the amount of exercise I do with food otherwise I'll have too much muscle gain and my body will seize up and die."

There's a new reason every day, Kurt honestly doesn't know how Finn thinks them up, and they are slowly getting more and more ludicrous. This one tops all the ones he's heard before and he can't help cracking up. Finn watches him with serious eyes, frowning.

"What?" he enquires, then takes another huge forkful.

"Did someone tell you that?" Kurt asks him, copying and nibbling a bit of the toast on his own plate.

"Yep," Finn says, grinning, "me."

Both Kurt and Burt laugh at that. There's nothing like an early morning dose of Finn Hudson, nothing quite so ridiculous, nothing quite so good at kick starting a day with obscure ideas. Kurt gives the chocolate smeared waffle one last look before it's disappeared and Finn is giving him another grin, reaching across and taking the other piece of toast on Kurt's plate. He tries to swat his hand away but to no avail, Finn is too quick and now he watches his own breakfast disappear too.

"Pig," he says lightly, smiling.

Finn overlooks the jibe and asks;

"So what are your plans for today?"

Before Kurt has opened his mouth to answer Burt puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks for him.

"Is it alright if you help me at the garage? Just got a couple of cars to go over and I could use the help," he asks hurriedly. Kurt smiles at him; it's never a problem to help. Amidst fashion and singing and having a sweet tooth, though _not _for chocolate covered waffles, he also has a penchant for cars, probably due to growing up around them, and always being there to pass a tyre or pump since he was young. They might be more of an acquired taste than a talent but taught to or not, he loves them still.

"Sure," he says, touching his hand briefly and standing up so he can carry his plate over to the sink. He picks Finn's up on the way, all the sauce scraped clean off. _Practically better than a dog at clearing his plate_, he thinks, but it's an affectionate thought. Suddenly he thinks of something, turning back around. "Wait, will I be back-"

"In time for Blaine to come around?" Burt finishes, a teasing note to his voice. Kurt blushes, _a habit that really needs to be gotten rid of_, and nods. Burt returns the nod, "Yes, I'll only need you for the morning. Then you can come back and do whatever it is you boys do." He thinks for a second, and then pulls his eyebrows together. "Though Finn will be here too, so be good."

Finn splutters with laughter at that and they both turn to him.

"What?" he says, "They're the definition of good. And if they're not, _I _don't want to be the one walking in on them."

Kurt throws a wet dishcloth at him and is only mildly disappointed when Finn ducks and it misses him.

* * *

><p>Kurt's morning is going quite well, all in all. He's fixed the reason behind someone's SRS light, the airbag being defective, changed the tyres on a four by four that probably could have been changed at home and is just writing a note out on a brake replacement he watched his dad do earlier to keep and learn from, when the sound of a voice in the office area comes through the adjoining door and halts his writing. He pauses for a moment to be sure he's heard right and then, when his suspicions are affirmed, he puts the paper down and lets out a long sigh. <em>Typical<em>. Of all the people who could possible invade the privacy of one of the few places he can love without distraction, the irony of it being Smythe, who seems to have conquered the knack of being everywhere Kurt really wishes he _isn't_ (Ohio being one of them), is not lost on him.

He walks over, puts his head around the edge of the door and sees the back of Sebastian, facing away from him and talking to his dad. Burt sees him standing there and smiles at him, nodding his head, which alerts Sebastian to his presence. Kurt is pleased to see a look of surprise cross his face. Clearly not here to rile him then.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, the pen that's still in his hand lifted to point in Sebastian's direction, emphasising the _being there_ Sebastian's doing. Sebastian raises his eyebrows.

"Hoping to get my car fixed," he states, waving his hand which, now Kurt notices, holds a car key.

"Oh."

Kurt feels a little stupid and he doesn't miss the expression on Sebastian's face, which looks remarkably like a triumphant grin, so instantly returns to his general feeling of annoyance that seems to fill him every time the wretched _idiot _is near.

"Anyway," Sebastian continues, turning back to Burt, "she keeps stalling and I don't know what to do. So I brought her here."

"Sure you actually put fuel in?" Kurt asks scornfully. Burt gives him a warning look, the one that says _if you scare clients away, it _will _be on your head. _Sebastian raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, I'm pretty certain I put fuel in my car, Hummel. That would be a special kind of stupid."

"Which is why I asked."

"Kurt!" his dad snaps. He looks at both of them long and hard and lets out a resigned sigh. "I don't know what the problem is here, and to be honest, I don't really care. All I care about is the problem with your car. So give me a few minutes to check it over, I should be able to see what's wrong, and then I'll be able to tell you more."

He walks towards Kurt, who was leaning on the doorframe, and stops beside him.

"Be nice," he mutters, and then seems to rethink. "Or not. It's up to you. Just stay here and try not to throw anything. Remember it's my stuff."

"Like I'm going to _throw _anything," Kurt says under his breath, a little hurt.

"Believe me, kid, I know what that glare means. Just don't forget that he's paying me. So try not to kill him."

Burt exits so Kurt doesn't have a chance to respond. Left only with minimal things worth throwing, though he's still a little affronted by the insinuation that he acts like a child, and the relaxed figure of Sebastian Smythe in the room, who's decided that a few minutes is too long to remain standing for, apparently, and has sat down on one of the chairs, Kurt doesn't really know what to do with himself. He settles back against the doorframe, for the sake of having something to do that is _not _going to sit with Sebastian, and narrows his eyes at the person in question. Sebastian's got a knowing smile on his face and Kurt groans inwardly.

"So this is what you do at the weekends. And I thought you just sat here crying over how your newest trashy dress doesn't fit you quite right. You surprise me."

"You're not funny, Sebastian," Kurt scowls and Sebastian laughs, reclining back.

"I beg to differ."

Kurt decides to ignore him. _The best way to relieve pain_, his dad always told him, and Finn too, for that matter, _is to think of something else_. This appears to be an advantageous plan of action, and it's worked in the past, so he puts it into motion and stares at the spot above Sebastian's head, holding his chin high. Astonishingly Sebastian doesn't talk either, just keeps his eyes on Kurt's face, which is slightly unnerving, but at least they're not talking.

Burt is true to his word and comes back in a few minutes later. It's not a second too early because the atmosphere in the room is _killing_ Kurt. He exhales lightly and turns to his dad, waiting to hear the verdict, more out of pure curiosity than anything else.

"It's a bad fuel pump," Burt says, and Sebastian's mouth sets in a line. "I'm going to see if it's clogged or if there's an issue with the fuel line but if I can't sort it out here I'll have to get a replacement."

A frown surfaces on Sebastian's face and he chews his lip, looking almost worried. Burt evidently notices because he adds;

"It won't take long to find, might have to keep it overnight." Sebastian continues to chew his lip so he says, "Because you're a…friend of Kurt's I'll lay off the labour charge for overnight."

Kurt has to cough back a laugh at the misinterpretation of Sebastian's anxiousness. The idea that he might be worried because of the _money _is just too ridiculous to take seriously. Sebastian looks shocked and shakes his head hastily, giving Burt a grateful smile.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm just not used to being without her, that's all."

"Understandable," Burt nods.

"I didn't even know you had a car," Kurt interjects, twirling the pen in his hands.

"Sorry if I don't inform you on every aspect of my life, princess."

Kurt reminds himself why he was ignoring the prat in the first place and turns his back on him emphatically, hoping he'll get the idea.

Five minutes later an agreement has been made. The car will stay overnight, Burt will do everything he can to fix the current pump but if it's not safe he'll replace it and Kurt, with an unpitying fake smile, promises not to touch the vehicle. After it's all been sorted, Burt, needing to attend to another car and another problem, goes back through to the garage, leaving Kurt to deal with Sebastian. Kurt follows suit in the _leaving people behind_ trend, quickly turning to get away from him, not particularly wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the immediate vicinity. However his departure is halted by a hand on his shoulder, burning like those eyes a few days before.

Kurt shakes him off angrily.

"What?"

"How will I know what you're doing to my car? I don't trust you."

"I won't touch your damn car, Smythe," Kurt says, then adds sarcastically, "How about I _phone_ you tonight, tell you every little detail about how I'm destroying your precious car?"

Sebastian gives him one of the dirtiest looks he's ever seen.

"She's called Nancy Vera and if you hurt her I will kill you. Slowly. Torturously," he threatens. Despite the literally _murderous_ expression on his face, that mocking lilt is already creeping back into his voice. Kurt gazes at him incredulously.

"I have no words."

"Well that'd be a first. Glad I could help you take this step forward."

And they're back to normal – taunting, arrogant, snarky Sebastian and permanently wound up Kurt. He barely has the time to get used to this welcome (and he never thought he'd say _that_) change to the familiar when Sebastian reaches forwards and takes the pen out of his hand swiftly. He opens his mouth to protest, _theft_, but Sebastian holds a finger to his lips and, for some unknown reason, he obeys. Sebastian's pulled a crumpled leaflet out of his pocket, _Peter's Perfect Pizza Parlour, _as far as Kurt can tell from such a brief flash, and is scrawling something down on the paper.

After he's done he straightens up and hands him the pen back, along with the paper.

"Be appreciative, Hummel, that's my favourite pizza place leaflet I've just given up for you," he says. Giving him that God awful smirk he bows slightly, _bows, the egotistical jackass, _and pulls away, walking out with that faint swagger of his.

Kurt, ever so slightly stunned, but what's new, is left looking down at the crunched up paper in his hands.

And the telephone number inscribed neatly on it.

Well, _that's _new.

* * *

><p>The days would pass by like leaves in an autumn wind, merging like colours on a palette, the colours of Europe, strange, old, intimidating, if not for school. School is structure, routine, and a safety net. He may not be able to understand most of what's going on but it makes more sense than being at home (<em>home <em>it is not, no, _house_). He is a novelty at school and he isn't lonely, and that's what France feels like, a gaping hole of isolation within life, and that's what it's like in the house, cold and desolate. His father's out most the time, working, and when he's in he's not really there, not for Sebastian. He's there for his '"friends" and his memories and that money on the table. He's there for _risk_ and drink and his own pack of cards that have never performed a magic trick. But not for his son.

Sebastian doesn't mind so much. These men are there to help find his mother, he assumes, perhaps they're spies on a mission, all suave suits and clipped tones, or perhaps they knew her before since they look so similar to the ones back home, who'd come round and play the same games. He's certain his father's doing all he can, so he goes to school and uses the beginnings of French that his mother taught him and comes home and if he's cold he'll light a memory of her flame red hair rather than a fire, because he knows which one warms him more.

He's lucky he goes to school at all; it's only the law that forces his father to enrol him. The law is a big part of his father's life, he thinks, judging by his shiny briefcase and conscientiousness of the police, and here the law works with him. Sometimes his father looks _sick_, a tired, grieving, _angry _sick, and other times he looks composed but under no circumstances is he stupid enough to risk his neck over something so trivial to him as Sebastian's schooling. So he makes him go, walks him out and lets Sebastian feel a little less lonely.

The only thing that hurts about school is the absence of Freddie. _One day I'll call him and he can come over and join me_, he promises himself, and no amount of dust, sea or mud streaks could make him break that promise.

* * *

><p>The film is some cliché romantic comedy that tells the typical storyline of a boy and girl meet, fall in love despite various difficulties, break up due to some misunderstandingmistake/massive foreseen plot twist and then miraculously make up again due to perfect timing and realisation that love is the most important thing in life. Still, even though there's an unoriginal story, the ending that could be predicted from the opening credits still makes Kurt tear up. The main characters were crying on screen, professing their love for each other, apologising for their mistakes, and it still hits him hard in his heart. He tries to blink them away but Blaine, with his safety and comfort and his arm around him, draws him closer, so he snuggles up to him, smiling softly.

"Alright there?" Blaine whispers against his cheek and it's now that Kurt realises he's crying a bit too. "Powerful one, that one."

Kurt laughs and brings his hand up to touch Blaine's face, wiping away the tears. Blaine leans into his touch and Kurt feels that same surge of love he gets every time he looks at Blaine. Every time he looks into those hazel eyes, every time he sees that smile, he swears he falls even further, even when he's sure he can't love him anymore. He just wishes they were together, just like this, more often. Lately it's been…_busy_.

"I love this," he mumbles, and he feels Blaine nods next to him. "Haven't done this in a while."

"Sorry baby, been really busy."

There's that word again. It seems to always be there, lurking. _Busy_. _Busy doing what? _he wants to ask but daren't. He doesn't want to lose this, this moment, this perfection, not for a question he is slightly scared of asking. Or more like slightly scared of the answer. _Paranoia is a terrible, twisted thing_, he tells himself, and so he pushes it to the back of his mind. _Just look at what you have right now. Love that. Love him._

Blaine's voice cuts into his thoughts.

"More popcorn?"

"Sure."

They get up, disentangling from the human knot they always seem to end up in whilst watching movies, and make their way to the kitchen, where no surprise, is Finn, mouth full of banana. He waves a hand at them and throws the peel in the bin.

"Hey," he says, "don't worry, I'll be out of your hair now, I'm going out."

"Where?" Kurt asks, opening the cupboard and getting out the instant popcorn packet. It's at the back of the top shelf so he has to stretch to reach it and he almost falls backwards when he's got it, but Blaine's arms are around him, hands on his hips, steadying him.

"Thanks," he smiles in gratitude, and turns his attention to Finn, who's looking at them with that look he always happens to catch on his face when they're together. It sort of says "I'm not sure whether I should be commenting on the cuteness or running away because I'm clearly the third wheel". "Where are you going?" he repeats, as Finn seems to have forgotten he was asked a question.

"Oh," Finn replies, a grin breaking out across his face, "well, I looked at the two of you over there watching that ridiculous movie so I thought I'd go see my own other half too. I called Rachel, we're going out somewhere."

"Where are you taking her?" Blaine asks.

"It's more of a question of where she's taking me."

They laugh and Finn picks up his keys, leaving with another jaunty wave and massive smile. Blaine pulls Kurt in as they wait for the popcorn to cook in the microwave.

"Another movie?"

"Mmm," Kurt replies happily, "movie afternoons with you. Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."

"Me too, me too."

When they kiss it's full of everything they are, fairy tales and cosiness and sweet ice-cream, and it's so damn them that Kurt wants to cry. When did _them_ become _things_, when did they stop being defined by their two different entities conjoined together in love and friendship and become this one meaning of _cute_? When did perfect afternoons like this get ruined with that intense regret when Blaine leans away again?

Kurt shakes his head and takes Blaine's hand. _There, that's familiar. _He scolds himself for being so silly, for thinking what they have has changed. Of course it hasn't. He's just had a confusing day. _Keep a hold of yourself,_ he tells himself, _you've got the most wonderful boy in the world making popcorn with you, catching your waist, watching soppy films with you. He loves you. And that's enough. That's everything. _They sit down, re-tangle themselves and press play. Blaine looks enraptured but Kurt can't concentrate.

_I just wonder where you are. I wish I could reach out to you. _

Blaine falls asleep half way through the movie so Kurt puts the blanket around him, touches his hair, whispers,

"Beautiful."

And he is. So painfully, amazingly, beautiful. And so painfully, amazingly _elsewhere_.

* * *

><p>Kurt's just about to brush his teeth, go to bed and sleep away a day that's been as changeable as the weather in April when he hears his phone ring from where he's left it on his desk, next to the empty stapler and the sheets of paper he needs to clear off. Humming under his breath he goes over to his desk and picks it up, reading the caller ID.<p>

_Unknown number._

"Well that's informative," he mutters and frowns. Who could be calling this late at night and not be someone he knows well enough to be a contact? "Um, hello?" he says, waiting for the response to reveal the caller.

It does. And it's not who he expected.

"You didn't call," comes the smooth voice through a shaky line. Kurt's mouth falls open in shock. Of all the possibilities that sprang to mind, _this _was not one of them. Or rather, _he _was not one of them. "Hello? Hummel?"

It takes him a few seconds to respond while he gets his head around the idea that Smythe is actually going a phone call, and heaven knows what route it took to find his number, into his own time and out of his own way to find new methods to make Kurt's day a little worse. He can hear background noise down the line, music that he can't quite distinguish.

"_I didn't call_…I didn't think you were _serious_. And how did you get my number?"

"Well, you didn't call me so I figured if I wanted to know anything about Nance I'd have to call you," Sebastian states matter-of-factly, like it's perfectly logical to hunt down the number of someone he doesn't even like to talk about a car. "And clearly you don't know me at all," he continues, "I love that car. And you're a bitch. Therefore, I want to know you're being nice to her."

"Firstly, you haven't answered my question, _how did you get my number?_"

He can practically hear the shrug he knows Sebastian's just given down the phone.

"Nothing's impossible if you try hard enough."

"Wow. Second of all, I was telling the truth, something you probably haven't learnt to do, when I said I won't touch your car, so I really don't know anything about it. And lastly, you are a lot more creepy and sad than I give you credit for."

"I'd call it taking initiative and being thorough."

"Some things we're never going to agree on."

"_Most_ things we're never going to agree on. Oh, and while we're on the subject, how's Blaine?"

Kurt can practically feel his blood pressure rising at the subtle dig Sebastian weaves in. He sits down heavily on his desk chair and shoots daggers out the window, hoping Sebastian will at least feel his hatred.

"You know how easy it is to hang up, Smythe? I can't walk away so easily face to face but if you piss me off now you might never hear from me or see your car again," he warns.

"If I'm irritating you, why haven't you hung up already?"

Kurt doesn't have an answer to that, not really, so he glares into the darkness outside and let's Sebastian laugh down the phone. After a moment's pause (Kurt is not going to make conversation for the hell of it, not with Sebastian) he hears Sebastian clear his throat and start talking again.

"Anyway, princess," he says, "I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

"Um, let me think about that. Oh wait, that's right, you won't. I don't know what even gave you that idea." Kurt puts his forehead against his hand, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the arch of his nose. Sebastian, and his stupid voice and presumptuousness, is giving him a headache.

"I'm picking up Nance tomorrow," he replies, sighing down the phone as if to say _forgetful, aren't we?_

"Then I'll make an effort not to be helping my dad. And Nancy Vera? Really?"

"You don't name your cars?" Sebastian asks, with what sounds suspiciously like real interest.

"No."

"I love my car."

"As you've said. You know, it really shouldn't surprise me that you've got a cold, metal box as your heart. I kind of guessed as much."

It's a biting comment that instantly makes Kurt cringe, no matter how much he dislikes Sebastian, since as far as taking the high road goes, this really isn't it. However it looks as if Sebastian really does take everything as a compliment, because all he gets in response is another laugh and sarcastic comeback.

"She doesn't ever let me down. And she rides like a dream. Can you say the same for your _perfect_ relationship?"

The regret he feels at his words quickly dissipates.

"Oh, do one, Sebastian," he snaps. "And her fuel pump is broken, so apparently she does let you down."

"Again, is that relevant to your relationship? I don't doubt it is."

Kurt pulls a face and really wishes Sebastian is with him, just so he can roll his eyes theatrically or flip him off or _something, _though that really would be negating off the high road and onto the low. And it wouldn't be his sort of behaviour at all. _How can you possess that terrible ability to lower my manners to match yours? _he wonders.

"You're disgusting, Smythe," is all he says, "I'm hanging up now."

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

The line is left ringing in Kurt's ear, cut off from the other end, and he makes an annoyed noise into empty air. When he puts his cell back on his desk his eyes catch on the crumpled up paper lying there, that he put there when he got back earlier (and why he didn't just get rid of it, he doesn't know) and promptly forgot about for the rest of the day. It's only now, when it doesn't really matter because Sebastian had to be exceedingly creepy and stalk his own number down, that he notices it again. He reaches forwards and stretches the leaflet out, staring at the digits for a second before turning it over to look at the advertisement.

_I just don't get you_, he thinks, _and I don't really want to. _But it doesn't stop him saving the number on his contacts. Or stop him folding the paper up and putting it in his drawer.

He'll think about it tomorrow.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for favouriting and reviewing :) it means a lot.

I also thought I'd say that if there are any really bad Britishisms coming through, I'm really sorry, I try to check them but I invariably miss a few, so I apologise!


	4. Amazing Grace

His father is the opposite of his mother, he decides one day, watching him through the gap between the door and the frame, squinting under a hinge. He's playing _again_, and Sebastian hates it, every moment spent away, wasted, is another moment his mother's not there, and with every passing day his faith in his father finding her is fading. He knows she said she'd see him again and he knows she has a reason to be gone, _risk_, but he still thinks that if only they could get to her, if only she could see how lost they are without her, that she'll come back.

The hand dealing out cards, the same one that deals out drink, smoothes down his suit, dismisses Sebastian, is quick and sharp, and matches his face, ice, impassive and removed. So different from his mother, all warm and smoky and _there_. Nothing relates with them and Sebastian just doesn't understand it. He loves his father, he has to, but his mother had a choice. He tries to remember what she told him about love, what he told Freddie, but he can't quite remember.

"Boy," comes a voice suddenly, cracking through the room, and Sebastian jumps and ducks back, heart beating fast.

He hears his father talk to the men in a low tone, and tries to decipher the words, ready to run to his room if anything goes wrong. After a few seconds he hears his father talk again, this time directed through the wall to him.

"Go to your room."

There's nothing in that, just ordering finality, so he goes, wishing for nowhere for what seems to be the millionth time. He'd never have to hear that voice again in nowhere.

Nowhere isn't where he is though, and a few hours later, as nights crosses into morning, he hears it again, that coldness come resonating through the house, getting closer and closer. He tucks his knees up beneath his chin and looks out the window upon the world, ignoring the fear that treads at the bottom of his spine. He tries to ignore the footsteps too, the sound in his ears as they approach, until he can't anymore, because they've grabbed him, or rather _those hands_ have grabbed him, and have twisted him around, shaking him roughly.

"How dare you disrupt me?" his father hisses, and how his anger, which is by definition passion, can still have that steel quality, Sebastian doesn't understand. He lets himself be shaken, loosening his body, closing his eyes. _You're still my father_, he wills himself to think.

His father inhales furiously, and Sebastian can smell the alcohol on his breath, wrathful and deadly.

"_Answer me_. I work to earn money, I try to help. You do nothing. You're always there but you do _nothing_. You're worthless."

The word that spills so easily from his father's lips sticks in the air, choking and loud, winding its way into Sebastian's head as it resounds in his ears. _Worthless, worthless, worthless_… He blinks as he tenses again, feeling the pain as his father's fingers dig into his arms and the word won't leave his mind. _I want my mom_, he thinks desperately as he tries to move, thrash away from his father and that word, _I want my mom. _He can't help it, it's an instinct as he panics, he can't help crying out,

"Where's mom?"

The hands drop instantly and he opens his eyes. His father's looking down at him with shock on his face.

"Where's my mom?" he cries again, "When's she coming back?"

The silence that fills the room is as empty as it is full. He watches his father's face change, his jaw tighten, his eyes fill with an emotion he doesn't understand, and he edges back, not trusting the new level of anger set in his mouth, or the heat of the alcohol he's consumed. And he's right not to.

"She's not coming back," his father says, soft at first, the intonation rising with every word, "she's never coming back. And it's because of _you_, you little _fucker_."

At the _you _he raises his hand, and there's not enough time between the _you _and the _fucker_ for Sebastian to move away, although he can see it coming, and then it slams into his face, knocking his head back into the wall and everything goes momentarily black. Pain blossoms in his cheek and above his neck but all he can see is his father, staring at him, at his hand, his face crumbling as he falls to his knees. Sebastian doesn't move, and frozen he watches him breath in raggedly and then sob, _sob, _something his father has never done before, he swears. The moonlight from the night lights up his broken face, gleams on the tears and Sebastian sits there, doesn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry," his father gasps, and this is the first and last time Sebastian's ever going to hear him say it, "I'm so sorry. I just miss her so much…"

Sebastian pauses for a second, then warily gets up and approaches him slowly. _I know_, he thinks, _I miss her too. _He's not sure if his father's even aware of his presence anymore but when he reaches him he looks at him, really looks, and sees just how lost he is, lost at sea, without his mother as the anchor. _Is that their love? A ship and its anchor? A tree and its roots? A bird and its wings? _He looks at his hard expression, collapsed in, and forgives him.

"I won't let you drown," he whispers and puts his arms around his shoulders.

For a moment his father stills, and then he puts his arms around his son in return, his hand on the back of his head, pressing where it hurts.

"You're just like her," he replies, and it makes Sebastian feel proud.

Much later he wishes he'd have known that this was a curse disguised as a blessing.

_And I see no bravery,_

_No bravery in your eyes anymore,_

_Only sadness._

* * *

><p>The morning is warm but grey, the sort of indeterminate weather that is impossible to dress well for, either too warm or too cold. It would be very much appreciated for Kurt to be inside, there's a test he knows he has to study for, but as he sorts out the papers on his desk he remembers that he left his notes (not on the test, he knows exactly where they are - lying on his bed, filling him with dread at having to learn the unendingly dull subject. No, his notes that he made yesterday) at the garage. For this reason and this reason alone, he goes with Burt to fetch them from where he last had them, in the workshop before he was distracted by the presence of Sebastian.<p>

He hopes he can be quick, there and gone before Smythe turns up to collect his car, but unluckily for him the fates have different ideas. Technically he _is _quick, finding the paper in a matter of minutes, and is just about to leave when he sees Sebastian strolling in, still with that flick in his walk, his face breaking out into a smug grin when he catches sight of Kurt. Kurt sighs, preparing himself.

"I told you you'd be here," Sebastian says, looking extremely self-satisfied.

"I'm not here because of you, so wipe that look off your face. And just why are you so pleased with yourself? Last time I checked, I was only useful for passing the time between dates, and barely that anyway." Kurt narrows his eyes at Sebastian, attempting to figure him out. Sebastian just shoves his hands in his pockets and whistles.

"Because I was right. You're so transparent, Hummel. And you _are_ good for entertaining me when I'm not busy. Last time you were the only intelligent conversation I had until the next day."

"I can't imagine it was entirely necessary. From the sounds of it, discussing politics and fine music and the meaning behind life wasn't exactly high on the list of things you were planning to do with the poor date you had."

Sebastian's smug grin widens and he clicks his tongue.

"It wasn't. Didn't stop me from having a good night though."

"I bet it didn't," Kurt mutters, going to moving past him but being stopped by Sebastian stepping in his way. "Don't be childish, Sebastian."

"Why, have somewhere you need to be? Fun schedule with one of your fun friends? A date with studying? I know how electrifying your life is."

"Would you please move, you prat."

"Can't you stand to hear about how exciting _my_ life is?" Sebastian draws in a breath, an expression on his face that Kurt can only consider _not good at all. _"Ah, jealous, are we?" He gives him a fake pitying look, patting his arm. "Sorry about that, mate."

Kurt jerks himself away from Sebastian's touch and sends him a hateful glare. He tries to step around him again but once more Sebastian slides in front of him, blocking his exit.

"Listen, one, I am not, nor ever will be your "mate". Two, as if I'm jealous of you, you're a pathetic, sad human being. For God's sake, you're practically stalking me, don't you _have_ any friends? And three, if you don't move right now, I will move you myself," Kurt's voice gets louder and louder as he talks, and he even takes a step closer to emphasis his point. He watches Sebastian work his face, biting his lip as if trying to contain an outburst, and in the end he can't manage it and lets a bubble of laughter escape. Kurt glares at him even more and is about to spit out another scathing remark he hasn't thought up yet when Burt appears, giving Sebastian a nod.

Sebastian immediately takes a step back and smiles politely, and if Kurt hadn't literally been there three seconds earlier he'd have thought that here was a well-mannered, civilised boy merely having a pleasant conversation with him about traffic or the _weather _or something. He shakes his head. _Smooth, two faced bastard._

"How is she?" Sebastian asks, walking past Kurt, giving him a friendly bump on the shoulder as he does so, and towards Kurt's dad.

Burt smiles.

"She's good to go. Here, I'll just go over some things with you and then we should be clear." He looks over at Kurt, "Did you find what you wanted, kid?"

Kurt nods and waves the notes.

"I'm just leaving," he says, "I'll see you at home."

"Wait," Sebastian says, "if you stay here a few more minutes I can give you a ride home."

He looks at him patiently and Kurt really has to try hard to muster up a smile back. He wants to refuse but his dad's giving him that stare that means _whatever the problem is, he's making an effort, so please do the right thing_. He knows his dad doesn't expect him to do anything, he _knows _that, but that look reminds him how he hates to let him down, and so, with a tense smile, he accepts.

"Great," Sebastian says, his eyes alight, "I'll be with you in a minute."

And so five minutes later Kurt finds himself in the passenger seat of a car belonging to someone he never thought he'd have to put up travelling with, drumming his fingers against the latch of the car lock as if debating whether to jump out and make an escape or not, and contemplating if it'd be better to ignore Sebastian or talk to him, just to get him to stop humming under his breath as he drives. Finally he turns his face to look at him and sighs.

"Do you have to do that?" he asks, and Sebastian raises his eyebrows, ending the song.

"Do you have to do _that?_" he asks, lifting a hand off the wheel to indicate towards Kurt's hand, still making its own tune against the side of the car. Kurt stops instantly.

"Does it really annoy you that much?"

"You generally really annoy me that much."

There's a silence for a few seconds so Kurt rolls down the window a bit and gazes outside at the houses they pass, each with their family, each with their own story. Suddenly an image of his mother flashes unbidden into his mind, taking his hand and walking him home from school, and the strongest part of the memory is her laughter, and his, together. He swallows and looks back at Sebastian.

"Why are you taking me home?"

"I had a car. You were going to walk. I'm going in a similar direction. It seemed logical," Sebastian replies plainly, "I can be nice you know."

Kurt gives a snort of derision, _I'll believe that when I see it_, but Sebastian just smiles lightly and turns a corner, his eyes on the road. There are another few moments of peace before he talks again.

"So what are you doing today?" he asks. Kurt coughs at the unexpectedness of the question.

"I'm sorry, do you care?"

"Not particularly but I don't do awkward silences."

This gives Kurt the urge to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the journey; however he is determined not to lower himself to the immature standards of Sebastian, so complies, somewhat begrudgingly.

"I'm studying for a test. I might go and see some of my fun friends, see what they're up to," and just because decent conduct has been drilled into him since he was little, he adds, "what about you?"

"Lacrosse practice with some of the boys. Have to keep this body in shape." Kurt wouldn't have to be looking at Sebastian to know he winks after that statement. "Oh, and I'm seeing that guy again tonight."

"The one with no conversational skills?"

"That's the one."

"You really are the shallowest creature I've ever met," Kurt comments, "I can't seriously believe that anyone would want to see someone they had nothing in common with. He evidently wasn't that boring."

"Glad to hear that you think _my _conversation's intelligent," Sebastian grins, and Kurt mutters "_tolerable_" underneath his breath. "And he certainly was that boring. But he more than made up for it."

"I think we've started this conversation before. I most definitely don't want to hear the end of it."

Sebastian laughs, that new real sort of laugh that still feels strange to Kurt, and pulls over as they near Kurt's house, effortlessly sliding in between two parked cars with no trouble at all. Kurt's fairly impressed but doesn't say so. He undoes his seatbelt and reaches for the handle.

"Um," he clears his throat, "thanks."

"Always a pleasure," Sebastian says and Kurt goes to get out the car, but before he can open the door Sebastian's leant across him and is holding the door shut, his hand over Kurt's on the handle. Kurt is just about to protest when Sebastian continues, stopping whatever indignant complaints were about to come out of Kurt's mouth. "Did you recognise it?" he asks, "The tune I was humming, did you recognise it?"

Kurt frowns at him.

"I don't know, it was Amazing Grace, wasn't it?" He's not sure, Sebastian doesn't strike him as an _Amazing Grace _sort of person.

"Yes," Sebastian says, looking faintly pleased, "what did it make you think of?"

"Excuse me?" Kurt asks. He gives Sebastian a funny look.

"What did it make you _think _of?" Seeing that Kurt is confused he shakes his head, as if he's talking to an unresponsive toddler. "Songs, they tie themselves to life. You can hear a song and a memory will flash into your mind, or an image, or a wish. Amazing Grace makes me think of a storm, dark waves. I can always see a ship crashing against rocks, people being washed overboard. But it's not an unhappy scene. I don't know why. I guess they get saved."

Kurt stares at him, his eyes wide, utterly lost for words. _Who are you? _he thinks, but he can't seem to form this thought into words. Sebastian watches him closely for a second, then lets out a long sigh that makes Kurt feel like he's failed some sort of test. _I don't have time for your stupid games_, one side of his brain says, but just as persuasively another part says, _how can it hurt? When are you ever going to hear something like that come from Sebastian Smythe's mouth again?_

Sebastian has removed his hand from Kurt's and has turned to face forwards again, giving Kurt clear access to move. Fleetingly Kurt thinks about just getting out and leaving but something keeps him there a bit longer.

"It reminds me of white," he says. He closes his eyes and hums the tune to make the picture less opaque. When he opens them again he sees Sebastian looking at him, curiously, his head tilted as if telling him to go on. "It reminds me of sunlight in an empty room." He pauses, feeling a little silly, but something in the way Sebastian's listening to him makes him go on. "It reminds me of washing up liquid. Apple scented. Like my mother used to use."

He feels his cheeks flame red. _Did I actually just say Amazing Grace makes me think of washing up liquid? _He waits for Sebastian to laugh or ridicule him but he just shrugs his shoulders and puts on a _fair enough _sort of face. Kurt clears his throat again, deciding now would be a brilliant time to escape, and opens the door to leave.

"Not all songs evoke emotion, or memory," comes Sebastian's voice from behind him as he swings his legs out and stands up. He turns back around and leans down, one hand on the frame of the car, the other on the door, like he's holding it together.

"Then how did you know Amazing Grace had?" Kurt asks.

Sebastian gives him a thousand watt smile, yet his eyes are thoughtful. He gestures towards Kurt's hands, the fingers that had been drumming on the car during the drive.

"You were joining in with the rhythm," he states simply, then reaches across to shut the door, forcing Kurt to step back. He waves cheerfully as he drives away, leaving Kurt standing on the curb, more than a little bewildered and dazed at what just happened.

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,_

_That saved a wretch like me._

_I once was lost but now am found, _

_Was blind, but now I see._

* * *

><p>Later, as he's clearing away the notes from the studying he was doing, he hears his phone <em>ping<em> with a message. He tucks the papers into a folder and picks up his phone to read the text.

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_Bored, wanna go out?_

Kurt sits down quickly on his bed, glad it's there to catch him when his body goes loose with shock. He shouldn't be surprised really, Sebastian's never been the most predictable of people (with the exception of his hitting on Blaine), but Sebastian doesn't _like _him. He's said as much. Kurt suddenly feels very tired. _I don't know what you're playing at but can you stop. Please. _He taps back a reply and lies down on his bed, watching the shadows on the ceiling.

_Kurt Hummel:_

_I don't like you._

Ten seconds later his phone _pings_ again.

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_But I'm bored._

"So am I," Kurt says to his phone, holding it above his face, "but the world doesn't revolve around you."

_Kurt Hummel:_

_Ask someone who cares._

And almost instantly;

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_I'm mortally wounded._

Kurt huffs a laugh and types back.

_Kurt Hummel:_

_You do know responding so quickly shows how desperate and needy you are, right?_

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_But you're replying just as fast._

_Kurt Hummel:_

_You texted me first._

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_I didn't actually expect any response. You obviously like me more than you're letting on._

Kurt turns on his side so he's not in danger of dropping his phone on his face (which has happened before and it hurts more than you'd think) and changes the topic.

_Kurt Hummel:_

_I thought you were going out with Sexy?_

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_What?_

Then he evidently understands and Kurt's phone _pings_ a second later.

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_Oh, Mr Airhead? Yeah, but only in an hour._

_Kurt Hummel:_

_So you only wanted to hang out with me for an hour?_

_Sebastian Smythe:_

_Like I said, I'm bored. Why, want to spend more time with me? _

_Kurt Hummel:_

_In your dreams, Smythe._

Kurt waits for a few minutes for a text back but in the end shrugs to himself and goes downstairs. Finn's out but Carole's making a trifle with Burt, a sight he'll never get used to, and Kurt won't ever give up the opportunity to steal little bits of the layers while they create it.

Before he goes to bed that night he checks his phone. Sebastian hasn't replied, _probably decided it was better to see that guy a bit earlier and be involved in mute conversation than carry on talking to me, _and he wonders if he cares.

He decides he doesn't but he checks his phone in the morning too, just in case.

* * *

><p>There's a girl in Sebastian's class, with distracted eyes and long brown hair that is always tied up in bunches. When she turns her head sharply they whip around her face and she always has to pull them away from where they've tangled in her ears and stuck to her mouth. One day, when he's sitting on a bench watching the others, she comes and sits next to him.<p>

"I like America," she muses, more to herself than to him, and when he looks over at her she wraps her fingers around her sleeve and looks to the sky.

"You speak good English," he replies and she giggles, sharp and free. Her eyes trace the flight of a flock of birds above, soaring beneath the clouds.

"I wish to live in America," is all she says, "I want the newness."

When he questions her on this, she just smiles and looks back at him. _One day_, her eyes say, and he believes her. _One day_. When his own eyes settle on her wrist again, covered by her hand, he notices her fingers are crooked. He asks her if she was in an accident.

"Did you shut them in a door?" he asks, because Freddie did that once and he had to go to hospital.

"No," she laughs, "I did not."

"What then?"

"They are bent," she claims, "because I have the devil in me."

And then she laughs again, shakes her head, and her hair whips around her like seaweed caught in the tide of a storm. It is in that moment that he knows it'll be okay. Her name is Adele, and she wants to live in America, with her crooked fingers and the devil inside, and she's going to make everything okay.

It is Adele who lends him the money to go to a telephone box after school and make an overseas phone call. She waits with him while it rings and rings and rings. Finally, when he's just about to give up and deflate in defeat, the other end of the line comes alive. Adele gestures to the phone encouragingly.

"Hello?" says a stern, adult voice down the phone.

"Hello," he greets, after a pause of rabbit-in-the-headlights fear.

"Who is this?"

"Sebastian," he swallows, "is Freddie there?"

"Do you know what time it is?" Then the voice softens and becomes apologetic, "He's at school. I'll get him to phone you later, if you like. What's your new number?"

"It doesn't matter," he says hastily, hitting his head against the side of the phone box. _Of course, the time difference. _He feels embarrassed and stupid and all he wants is to run away from the phone call, this street, this whole city. Adele watches him, worried.

"He misses you, you know," the voice says, and Sebastian feels his throat clog up and _no he will _not _cry down the phone_, so he slams the receiver down and pushes the door open quickly, almost falling out in his hurry. Adele follows.

"What is it, American?" she asks, catching his arm, "What is wrong?"

"Everything," he cries, and she hugs him, holding in his hopelessness. _Everything._

* * *

><p>He doesn't calls Freddie again, but he thinks about him every day. One day, nine years later, he goes back to the same box and remembers trying to call him. He leans against the side of the door frame and looks at the receiver, the same one he pushed away from with such force, and thinks of all that has happened since then. An impulsive decision has him reaching forwards and dialling the same number again, it's still there, etched into his brain.<p>

"Hello?"

A mirrored scene is happening again, just with a different voice, on a different day. He knows the answer to his question before he asks it.

"Is Freddie there?"

"I don't know any Freddie," comes the foreseen response, and Sebastian smiles regretfully, briefly shutting his eyes.

"Sorry, wrong number," he apologises.

"Who were you trying to call?"

_I don't know. I don't know who I was trying to call. I don't know what I was trying to achieve._

"No one," he says, and then he puts the phone down.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **_And I see no bravery,_

_No bravery in your eyes anymore,_

_Only sadness. - "No Bravery" by James Blunt._

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,_

_That saved a wretch like me._

_I once was lost but now am found, _

_Was blind, but now I see._ _- "Amazing Grace" by John Newton_


End file.
